


Cliché Pity-Hate And Other Coping Mechanisms

by silentconventionalweapon



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drabble, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Karkat POV, M/M, Meteor, Meteorstuck, POV Karkat Vantas, PTSD, Poor Karkat, Psychological issues, Quadrant Confusion, Sadstuck, Slow Burn, self harm mentions, self hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentconventionalweapon/pseuds/silentconventionalweapon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat deals with his psychological issues on the meteor, gets closer to Dave, and discovers that the two have a lot more in common than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: self-hatred, self-harm mentions, depression, anxiety, PTSD, mentions of nightmares
> 
> let me know if you see anything else that would need a warning

Karkat takes the time to fulfill a cliche and stare at himself in the mirror, claws gripping the porcelain sink in a failed attempt to stop his limbs from trembling. His emotions are out of control, they have been for pedigrees now. Maybe it’s just a side effect of budding maturity, he would be experiencing his adult molt soon enough, so that would explain it. _This is normal, right?_

Probably not.

_I'm probably losing my fucking mind._

He glares at his reflection, self-loathing boiling in his cursed blood, almost to the point of worry. Is it possible to pass out from a sudden surge of self-hatred? Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing... Unconsciousness sounds really fucking refreshing right now, especially since his recent attempts to sleep have been plagued with horrorterrors and dream bubbles based on borderline emotionally-scarring memories.

There are dark bags under his eyes. His skin is dotted with imperfections and it makes you sick with yourself. The scar across his hairline over his pointed ear is as prominent as ever, even if nobody else has noticed it.

Of course, the scars on his wrists are usually the most noticeable.

_Hah, how fucking stereotypically melodramatic is that?_

Karkat is sure that his levels of self-hatred are through the fucking roof. If hating oneself were a schoolfeeding topic, he would have passed that test with the highest scores in the empire.

_Hahah- fuck._

His fingers are numb from how tight he's squeezing the sink, claws leaving small indentations across the white paint. 

He is tired.

So, _so tired._

His reflection glares through him, sad and exhausted and lonely and worthy of all sorts of pity and hatred. It’s perverse, but he believes he deserves it, he deserve to spend eternity with himself. He would hate to subject anyone to a relationship with his horrible, shitty self. He knows that he deserves his loneliness, his anger, his depression- every negative aspect about himself, towards himself.

The reflection mirroring his pathetic image begins to cry, and he allows it. He allows himself to completely break down, a cathartic experience probably long overdue.

Maybe all those diluted-red tears will help wash away some of these bullshit emotions.


	2. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: self-hatred, mentions of nightmares, depression, psychological issues
> 
> let me know if you see anything else that needs to be tagged
> 
> also I appreciate comments if you've got any

They’ve started up again.

The nightmares, that is.

The echoes of horrorterrors thrashing about in Karkat's unconscious mind, its ghastly tentacles curling around every insecurity and fear. He’s opted to avoid sleep, a somewhat nostalgic experience, in favor of trudging around the dark empty halls during the hours that had been designated as _‘sleep time’_ by Vriska and Rose, who were apparently the new leaders of this shitshow. It was stupid, really, that they had bothered to set up a schedule to simulate a sense of reality on this rock flying through the void between universes.

Karkat wonders if it bothers the Knight of Time, seeing as how that’s his entire fucking domain of power. Such a thought would normally result in a smug grin, but the muscles of his face refuse to contort into any expression that could be regarded as even remotely happy. Especially now that he’s thinking of his fellow Knight. His chest rumbles in loneliness and anger as he is reminded of his recent pattern of avoidance. Ever since the humans had joined them on the meteor, Dave had seemed to go out of his way to avoid everyone. Occasionally, Karkat would catch him talking to his littermate in hushed tones, only to abscond away as soon as he or Kanaya showed up. For a self-proclaimed obnoxious tool, he sure was being an aloof bastard.

What the fuck was that guy’s problem?

He doesn’t bother to answer his own question, as it would also answer the question as to why the thick sheet of depression has taken over his own mind. It's obvious Dave has shit he's dealing with too, from what Kanaya has gossiped to him about. Still, Karkat doubts the human's problems are anywhere near as serious as his own. 

_Hah. Yeah, pretty sure I'm the only one on this flying rock who is losing his fucking mind._

Gamzee didn't count; he had lost his mind sweeps ago. 

Karkat ignores the pain in his chest that this thought elicits, and pauses the shuffling of his feet as he realizes which hallway he has wondered down. His nocturnal eyes gaze at the door a few feet away, and a fleeting thought urges him to knock. Would Dave even bother answering? Was he even awake, or in the room at all? What if he did answer, took one look at who was requesting company, and then slam the door back in his face?

That last possibility would hurt the most, and even attempting to face it in reality goes beyond his own stupidly high desire to act upon self-hatred.

_Fuck._

He moves past the door, continuing down the dimly lit hallway. He doesn’t notice when the door he abandoned cracks open, and a pair of lonely crimson eyes follow his movements until he disappears into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave's POV for this chapter, taking place at the same time as the previous chapter. Starting now, this story will start to have a more definite plot, and chapters will start to get longer. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter include violence, blood, physical abuse, psychological abuse, PTSD, depression, anxiety
> 
> if you see anything else that needs to be tagged, please let me know
> 
> as always, comments are appreciated

Dave Strider is bleeding, but that’s nothing new. His hand grips the flesh that was torn open on his shoulder, trying to keep more blood from dripping on the floor and leaving a trail to his location, but it was hopeless; the cut was much too deep. Somewhere in the haze of fear that is his mind, he knows this is a dream. The walls are shifting like a labyrinth, and his bedroom door was impossibly far away, the hallway stretching as if it were made of elastic. He couldn’t focus on the off-putting physics, as his entire being was fueled with pure fear. His hands are trembling, and he’s terrified of continuing on, but he knows he can’t back down yet. He can’t show any ounce of weakness, or his punishment would be ten times worse.

“C’mon, Bro…,” Dave lets out a shaky breath, glancing around the dimly lit room. This is the worst part. After Bro gets a hit on him, he seems to disappear, which is when the mind games again. The sickening psychological horror is meant to test the limits of his brain in the same way the strifes are meant to test the limits of his body. It’s meant to help him, prepare him…but for what? His mind goes into a static which should be another warning sign of this being a dream.  
He turns a corner and flinches as a puppet falls from the ceiling and dangles right in front of his face, held up by a thin string around its neck. A shiver runs through his body as he moves past it, ignoring the blood seeping from between his fingers and leaving a crimson streak on the wall. There were already plenty of bloodstains in the shitty little apartment, one more wasn’t a big deal.

Dave’s sword shakes in his trembling hand as he approaches the kitchen, where a single light shines from above the stove. A nauseating sixth sense tells him that his guardian is in there. He has to get at least one strike in or he’ll never live it down. He sucks in a deep breath and charges into the kitchen sword first. As he lunges into the room, the light shatters, spitting glass around the linoleum beneath his feet. A shard painfully embeds itself into Dave’s cheek as he is tackled to the ground, a pressure on his back telling him that he’s been overpowered. The stench of blood and grimy sweat makes his head spin with adrenaline and fear, and he struggles against the larger body above him.

There is a laugh, and a muttering of, “Better luck next time, little man,” and then everything turns black.

Dave sits up with a gasp, a scream strangled in his throat. He brings a hand up to clench around his neck, loosening the tensed muscles to ease the act of breathing. His fingers slide across his bare chest to ghost over the shoulder he remembers being injured. There is a thick, uneven scar there, just as he remembered, the improper healing causing it to bump up from the skin surrounding it. His hand slides further down until it reaches his wrist, where he digs his fingernails into the delicate flesh. He sucks down a breath and lets the dull pain ground him, bringing him back to reality.

“Fuck,” he hisses as his breathing slowly returns to normal. “This shit needs to stop.” He swings his legs over the mattress, securing his pants over his hips as he stands up. These nightmare memories were getting out of control, even after he had taken Rose’s advice and started keeping track of them, writing a dumbass little journal for his feelings and all that bullshit. He was starting to think that not sleeping at all would be a better option than having to face those horrors every time he tries to rest.

The padding of footsteps outside of his door makes him halt, a cool sweat trickling down his forehead. Dave runs a hand through his hair as he moves towards his door, waiting until the mysterious steps moved well past his door before peeking out at the dim hallway. He barely has to squint to make out the figure shuffling away, quickly recognizing it as Karkat. Part of him wants to call out to the troll, maybe ask to join him on his late night walk around the neighborhood and partake in snarky banter involving the brilliant idea to start an insomniacs club. A smirk tugs at Dave’s lips, but he doesn’t move forward at all, instead opting to silently watch Karkat disappear behind a corner before he closes his bedroom door. The metal is cool against his back as he leans against it, staring into the darkness of his block. His heart rate has settled now, but he won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

With a yawn, Dave moves towards the corner where his newly alchemized turn tables sit, deciding to pass a few hours doing what he loved most. The plastic spins beneath his fingertips and it offers a grounding sense of relief. As soft beats begin to flow from his headphones, he thinks of Karkat’s shadowed figure moving alone down the hall, and decides that maybe tomorrow he’ll stop being so reclusive and strike up a conversation with the short troll. With any luck, it could even end with the two of them hanging out for a while. Dave’s smile softens at this thought. Yeah, hanging out with someone else around here would be nice for a change.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no real trigger warnings for this chapter, just some Dave and Karkat finally bonding  
> comments are much appreciated, and thank you for reading!

“Wanna hang out?” 

Karkat stares at the human as he contemplates the question he just asked, turning it over in his mind again and again, searching for the catch. It was entirely unexpected, and honestly Karkat hadn’t even noticed that he had any company in the common area until Dave had spoken up. He stuck a finger between the pages of his book to save his place as he focused the entirety of his attention on the human. Behind his shades, he just knows that Dave’s eyes are expectant and anticipating an answer. After a solid minute though, Karkat can only come up with an inarticulate, “What.” 

“You know, hang out,” Dave goes on to explain. “Chill, relax, do something to be less alone and bored, uh…” He then goes on to make obscene noises with his mouth, which mostly involve clicking his tongue. Karkat’s emotive reaction actually breaks Dave’s poker face, and the human spouts out a laugh. With a smirk, he goes on to say, “Shit, I hope I didn’t just insult your grandmother or something.”

“My what?” Karkat begins, but quickly waves the question away. “Was that your pathetic attempt to speak Alternian?”

The human snorts again, slouching down on the couch in a way that tells Karkat he isn’t leaving him alone anytime soon. “Out of the two times I’ve heard your language it mostly sounded something like that,” he says with a shrug. “Like some unholy cross between a cicada and a snarling dog.” 

“It’s a very advanced language, I wouldn’t expect your underdeveloped think pan to grasp the concept of it,” Karkat says with a glare. “Unlike your primitive Earth language, which only took us about half a pedigree to master.”

“Be fair dude, you still don’t know what some words are. I’ll point back to the grandmother example stated like fifteen seconds ago.” 

“That’s because some words don’t translate, you fucking moron,” Karkat nearly yells in frustration. “Plus I’ve only been speaking this idiotic language for half a sweep, and even for an advanced species like mine, learning things does take a while.” He shifts to cross his legs and open up his book again, opting to read rather than continue the conversation. His plan somewhat backfires when he feels a shift on the cushions and a warm body beside his own. 

“What’s that word say?” Dave asks while poking at the book. 

“It says, get the fuck away from me you disgusting meat suit,” Karkat snarls, shifting away again. 

“Dude, c’mon, I’m trying to be multicultural here,” Dave almost sounds genuinely disappointed. Almost. 

Karkat slams his book shut and quickly stores it away in his sylladex, effectively keeping it safe from grubby human paws. He turns towards the other with his arms crossed, annoyance and doubt in his expression. 

“This isn’t a schoolfeeding session, so I’m not going to teach you the goddamn alphabet,” he begins. “But I guess I can tell you a few words.” 

The way Dave’s face lights up is borderline adorable, though that thought is quickly shaken away because, no, fuck no, no feelings of adoration will be expressed for this human. Of course his stomach betrays him with a flutter of excitement, which he will swear up and down is just indigestion. 

“How do you say my name?” the human asks.

Karkat sighs, thinking for a moment before speaking. “Well there’s…more vowels in your language, so it would mostly be the consonants that translate over with a name.” 

When he speaks, it’s entirely too guttural, short syllables emphasized with clicks of his tongue off the roof of his mouth. Dave finds himself staring in awe and unironic interest—though he would never admit it. And damn is he glad his shades are polarized and there was no way to tell he was totally checking out the alien’s mouth. He feels his face heat up and he turns away, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his poker face in check. Fuck, no, this casual interest wasn’t supposed to backfire. He wasn’t supposed to find the way Karkat’s mouth formed around alien words _sexy_ in any way. He wasn’t supposed to find _anything_ about Karkat _sexy_ ; even putting his name next to that word made an uncomfortable warmth flutter in his chest. 

“…Dave?” Karkat is speaking English again. 

“Yeah man that, that sounded hella cool, you should teach me more,” Dave says stupidly without thinking. Okay, self-indulgence aside, learning an alien language was pretty sweet. “Well not teach me but like demonstrate the linguistics, since I don’t think humans can physically make some of those noises. Like shit you must have a whole different set of strings in your vocal cords or something, shit plays more like an electric guitar than a violin. Wait, maybe that’s the wrong metaphor—”

Karkat makes the noise again, which Dave recognizes as his own name in that strange alien language once again. He freezes, the rest of his rant dying in his mouth as he is once again stupidly captivated by the sound. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Karkat continues in English. “I’m not equipped to schoolfeed you on Alternian language which, by the way, _you can’t even speak._ I’m also not a goddamn trained barkbeast, doing fucking tricks to entertain you. So cut the shit with this fake fucking interest in what you describe as ‘multicultural’ and leave me the fuck alone.” 

Dave blinks behind his shades, watching as Karkat continues to sit there with his arms crossed. The way he was speaking made Dave think he was about to storm out of the room, or even open up his book again in an obvious attempt to ignore him. Maybe that means he really doesn’t want to be left alone? 

Dave makes himself comfortable on the couch once again, being sure to leave a cushion-width space between the two, and decapchlogues his laptop to let it rest on the table in front of them. He silently picks out a movie, some basic adult comedy with an underlying tone of romance for Karkat’s sake. After the exposition of the film, Karkat began to visibly relax, tension leaving his body as he became increasingly interested in the characters of the movie. Dave finds himself relaxing too, keeping an eye on the alien beside him as he half-heartedly watches the movie. 

And after it ended, the two entered an unspoken agreement to spend the remainder of the day watching movies together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter include violence, fighting, blood, death, PTSD, flashback, anxiety, self-hate, and depression

This is entirely, completely fucked up. Dave knows this. He admits it. But he still won’t stop. After all, out of all his coping mechanisms, this is the least harmful and has the most payoff. Well, least harmful for this version of himself at least…

The Doomed Dave lunges at him, broken sword aimed at his chest, but Alpha Dave flash-steps away just in time to land a kick to his ribs. Doomed Dave coughs out a mix of saliva and blood, turning to glare over his shades. Yeah, it was a cheap move, but Alpha Dave has so much pent up frustration that he really doesn’t give a shit about fighting fair right now. Both of their chests are heaving, and the air is swirling with tension and rage. 

Alpha Dave thinks back to how this started, his mind flashing to the millionth nightmare he had experienced last night. It was worse than the others. Worse than feeling the pain of a blade across his neck or experiencing the grief of every single doomed version of himself. Hell, it was even worse than the reoccurring memories of his and Rose’s failed suicide mission into the sun. Last night his dream featured his Bro, but it was different from the others that had recently been brought to the forefront of his mind. It wasn't about Bro's surprise attack strifes, or the lonely hot days in his apartment when the guardian was missing; no, it was a more recent memory, the memory of stumbling upon Bro's impaled, dead, bleeding body--

_Fuck no, no, stop thinking about it--_

\--and how horrifyingly stiff and silent Bro's body was, a pool of crimson beneath his body, staining his shitty white polo. The glass of his shades were shattered and his hat was resting in the dirt a few feet away from his head, a sprinkled trail of blood all around. And shit, it smelt horrible, like--

_No no no no no--_

\--smelt like rot and death and the innards of something that used to be alive, and it reminded him of when he and Bro lived in a drug dealer's basement for three months and the place was infested with rats, fuck that was a horrible summer--

_You're getting off topic you stupid fuck, stop thinking and keep fighting!_

And as Dave was standing there, reliving the memory of discovering his guardian's dead body, taking the gruesome sight and stench, it was what he felt that made him feel sick inside.

_Shut up. Shut up, shut up!_

He was sad. He cried. 

He missed his Bro. 

And that should be normal but it isn't, it wasn't, because as much as Dave had justified and ignored the facts, he recognized that Bro had always been a shitty guardian. It took years of denial and therapy sessions with Rose for him to admit it to himself. Bro didn't act like a guardian, and Dave realized it was likely because never wanted to be a guardian. He never asked for Dave to literally fall out of the sky and ruin his teenage life. Maybe that was why, for all the bullshit Bro put him through, Dave couldn't bring himself to hate the man. 

And that's what made him stutter and stumble and stop when he found himself missing Bro, because that meant Dave was weak. He was weak and worthless and couldn't even be man enough to hate the one person in his miserable life who gave reason to be hated. 

And Dave couldn't justify missing that bastard, looking up to him, _loving him--_

He stumbles as Doomed Dave gets in a hit. 

_Shut the fuck up and focus!_

Doomed Dave is suddenly beside him, the blunt end of his blade smashed against the other’s face. A stinging slit in his cheek leaks with blood, trickling down his cheek and filling his senses with the copper-scented crimson. That’s when Alpha decides to forgo any swordsmanship shills and lay his fist into the other’s face. He grins as hears the satisfying crunch of Doomed Dave’s nose, followed by a cry of pain. 

_Fuck you, you worthless--_ Punch. _\--weak!--_ Punch. _\--unwanted, unlovable, piece of shit!--_

The voice crying out pulls him back into reality for a moment, because Dave never quite gets used to that. He lunges at his doomed self once again. It takes 0.2 seconds for him to drop his sword, and the clattering metal echoes the ringing in his ears as he lays his fist into Doomed Dave’s face again. And again. And again. And fucking _again._ Over and over until the cries of pain and pleas of mercy are silenced, and even then, he doesn’t stop. The sickening sound of tender skin and shattered bones beneath the force of his fists is so satisfying, and he’s stuck in a trance-like state as he beats himself.

He’s not sure how long it takes for the doomed version to finally die. His internal clock was stuttering because of the intense rage emanating from his body. He only realized that the other’s breathing had stopped while he was sucking air into his own lungs. Dave is still hunched over the doomed, dead version of himself, straddling his chest, his pants sticking to the other’s shirt with help of the blood forced out of him. He tries to calm himself, pulling deep breaths of air into his mouth and swallowing down the bile rising up in his throat to keep himself from being sick. 

It’s too late though, and tears are already running down his cheeks, landing on the mangled face of the dead Dave. His mouth tastes like blood and vomit, and he’s trembling. He lifts his shades and tosses them aside, running a hand through his hair, resulting in leaving a sticky crimson streak through the blonde mess.

_“Holy fuck…”_

Dave doesn’t recognize the voice when it’s being used at such a low volume, but when he turns, it makes sense that Karkat is staring at the scene, his eyes wide and his stance automatically defensive. His sickles materialize into his hands and he actually looks scared that he might have to fight. Dave doesn’t have enough strength though, and Karkat must recognize that when he sees the exhaustion and defeat in the human’s naked eyes.

“What the fuck happened?” Karkat’s voice is still too low, like he was trying to keep the deceased body in the room from waking. Dave climbs off the doomed version of himself and wipes his face with the back of his hand. He forgot he was crying until then. 

As he passes, Karkat tries to grab his shoulder to stop him, but Dave’s mind is in such a haze that the touch doesn’t even register. He holds his breath as he moves back towards his room, feeling as numb and empty as the dead version of himself still lying on the floor.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Karkat wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He stared as Dave disappeared down the hallway, going towards his block without a word. With a sigh, he turns towards the bloody, mangled mess that is inevitably a doomed, dead version of Dave. The bright, cherry red pools on the concrete floor, still leaking from the unmoving body. The color elicits tension and anxiety over every inch of his mind, but he shoves it aside. 

Cringing at the sticky warmth, Karkat kneels down to lift up the dead body. He moves towards the depths of the lab, forcing down the memories of the several other bodies he had to discard of down here. It was a shitty way to be put to rest after death, but there wasn’t much they could do when they were floating through the veil. Karkat places the body into the small, vacuum sealed room before closing the door and hitting the button to launch it into space. It was kind of poetic, stupidly so, that after dying their bodies would live on with their ghosts, just floating through endless space. 

Karkat lets out a heavy sigh, walking back towards his block as he wipes the crimson stains from his hands. It would take forever to feel clean again, the bright red hue definitely forced into the recesses of his mind as it always had been. Of course, he couldn’t help but worry for Dave’s wellbeing. He looked so broken and terrified, and so goddamn _pitiable._ Fuck, now was not the time for romance, but Karkat couldn’t help but recognize the strong feelings he felt for the human. Was that wrong? Obviously Dave was going through some deep personal shit right now, would issuing pale solicitations be taking advantage of his weakened state? Would it be manipulative? 

_Fuck you, fuck you very much, now shut the fuck up._ He cursed himself as he scrubbed his hands, watching as the diluted blood filtered down the drain. 

Maybe he would approach Dave in a few days, just to check up on him and make sure he was alright. _Yeah, no ulterior motives or romantic intentions whatsoever…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad people are enjoying this fic, it means a lot to me every time I get a new comment. Thank you!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Dave and Karkat bonding chapter.   
> Warnings include self-doubt, frustration, and talking about feelings.

Dave had been sitting on the couch, staring at the alien movie playing on the alien computer (while he sat next to an alien) for the past twenty-three minutes and forty-five seconds… _forty-six…forty-seven…_

“Dave?” Karkat finally speaks up for the first time in thirty-two minutes and twelve seconds. “Are uh. Are you okay?” 

His eyes are wide behind his shades as he watches the screen, following the pixelated pattern of dots as they formed shapes, creating the scene. There were two trolls, one of them was a yellow-blood while the other was a cobalt-blood (the only reason Dave could tell was because trolls had some obsession with wearing their blood color literally on their sleeves). The trolls were yelling at one another in their foreign, guttural language. There were subtitles in English running across the bottom of the screen, which he ignored. He always hated watching foreign films because of the butchered translations, so he didn’t bother. Besides, the colors were much more interesting. 

Karkat is still staring at him. Dave ignores it, still in a trance. 

The yellow-blood shoves the taller troll in the shoulder, spitting what sounds like an insult or profanity. There is a long, tension-filled pause, and then the cobalt-blood reaches down and grasps the other troll by the collar and pulls her in for an intense kiss, filled with teeth and tears and passion. Dave finally blinks.

“Why, out of the two completely different cultures I have experience with, do people think that a conflict can be solved with gross sloppy makeouts?” Dave grimaces, holding a hand out towards the screen. The other is still across his stomach, clutched into a fist around his sweatshirt sleeve. He’s not wearing his godtier outfit; although the blood had cleaned itself off of it, he couldn’t bring himself to put it back on after what happened a few days ago. 

“Oh, I, uh,” Karkat sputters as he turns back to the screen, not expecting the sudden conversation. “Well, it’s not typical of the culture, actually. This is just a common theme in romance movies. Mainly just for the fucking dramatics of it. Realistically, no, I wouldn’t recommend doing that unless you want your face mauled off.” 

“Hmh,” Dave nods absently. His arms cross once again and his blank stare returns, fixated upon the screen. 

Another three minutes and fifteen seconds pass before the movement of the pixels stops, breaking Dave’s concentration. He blinks at the frozen trolls on the screen before glancing over at Karkat, raising an eyebrow to convey a message of _‘what the fuck dude, I was watching that’_ but falls flat upon seeing the troll’s expression. He’s serious, but not in a pissed off way (which was the norm), or even a depressed way (which was becoming more frequent lately). His face is pulled into a stony frown, eyebrows drawn in and slightly upturned, as if he were concerned. 

“Dave,” Karkat speaks again. 

The human groans as he rolls his head against the couch to turn and look at him. “ _What?_ ” 

“I wanted to…I mean, I was,” Karkat stammers, then sighs. “Are you okay?”

“Yes dude I am _fine_ ,” Dave glares through his shades, though he assumes the other can guess his expression. “Can you just play the stupid fuckin movie now, I was seriously getting into it.” That’s obviously a lie, and they both know it. 

“No,” Karkat spits back, leaning forward a bit and returning the glare. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Dude, c’mon…”

“No, _you_ come on, and _talk_.” 

“It’s none of your fuckin business!” Dave finally snaps. 

“I had to carry your time-jumping doomed clone’s dead corpse to a room where I shot it off into paradox space, like a fucking voyage burial,” Karkat yells, a growl rumbling low in his chest. “I washed your disgusting, bright-red blood from the floor, and then, from my hands. So _yes, Dave,_ it _is_ my fucking business!” 

They’re both breathing louder than normal, filling the quiet air around them as the computer buzzes as it sits idly on the table, movie still paused. Dave waits thirty seconds… _forty seconds…forty-five…_ He sighs and flops back against the couch, slouching down and hoping he can sink deep enough into the plush cushions to make himself disappear. He silently wishes he had void powers. Disappearing sounds so great right now. 

“Just…why did you do that?” Karkat speaks, his voice much softer than before. “I mean, I understand fighting and training, but why did you take it so fucking far?” 

“Why did I kill myself?” Dave asks, glancing over to make eye contact over the rim of his shades. Maybe he was hallucinating, but it looked like Karkat shivered when their gazes met. The troll nods, and Dave shrugs. “I got pissed off.” 

“At him?” 

“At _me,_ ” Dave corrects. “He is me, after all… _was_ me. Whatever.” 

Another heavy sigh to fill the air. 

Karkat re-situates himself on the couch, crossing his legs and turning to face the human. His hands go to his lap, fingers twitch uncomfortably, then move to his ankle where he tugs at a loose string on his pants. He looks so awkward, so unsure, and… _nervous?_

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Dave shifts to sit up in a bit more dignified manner, sliding his shades back up the bridge of his nose so that they completely covered his eyes again. He’s still facing the husktop, gaze glazing over the frozen image of the trolls kissing before he looks at Karkat. The dark grey irises and yellow sclera used to freak him out when he first met the trolls. He’s grown so accustom to it now, it almost feels weird whenever he sees the bright colors of Rose’s eyes, or even the reflection of his own. Karkat’s dark irises look a bit grainy. He remembers the question asked thirty-three seconds ago. 

“It’s just…,” Dave begins with a sigh. He pauses for less than five seconds, trying to collect his thoughts so as to avoid word-vomiting all over the place. He fails. “You know how you would get into those arguments with your past-self or future-self or what the fuck ever? And like, when you’re talking to past-you…you can kind of understand why past-you had the opinions and thoughts that he did, but now that you know better, you know those old opinions were _total shit,_ and you can’t help but be pissed at yourself for even _thinking_ that way. And even though you _know_ the real truth of things now, you _know_ what’s right and what your opinion should be, you still hold on to some of those old ways of thinking because it’s _so fucking ingrained in your mind_ that it’s almost impossible to completely forget. Like, you’re stuck with the reminders of your shitty past-self’s decisions and it keeps coming back to fuck with you, and there’s nothing you can do about it but be pissed off and frustrated and want to beat your old self into a bloody fucking pulp just to get those _fucking thoughts_ out of your head—as if, _hah,_ as if you can make them go away completely by killing something and pretending you also killed that past part of you.” 

That wasn’t just a failure; that was a spectacular failure. Fuck, there’s word-vomit everywhere. _Clean up on aisle three._ Dave sucks in a deep breath, then exhales shakily. He can feel the threat of tears prickling in his eyes, but he refuses to let them spill. His vision snaps back into focus, and he finds himself staring at the frozen screen of the movie. 

“Yeah…I know what you mean,” Karkat says. 

Dave turns towards him, surprised. “What?”

Karkat shrugs a bit, looking unsure as he glances around before meeting Dave’s eyes again. “I know what you mean, I’ve felt that way about my past-self too. Pretty much since we got into the game, I’ve been recognizing more dumbfuck mistakes that my past-self had made…regretting the shitty situations I let myself and everyone else get into.” 

“It’s not- I don’t mean like that,” Dave stammers, trying to find words. “Like, not so much physical situations, but more like internal thoughts and shit, ya know?” 

Karkat nods. “Those too.” 

“Oh,” Dave deflates. He pulls at the sleeves of his sweatshirt, tugging them over his hands. It was still way too cold on this meteor, even after they had figured out the heating system. Most of the trolls liked it to be cool though, and since majority rules, the temperature stayed at a crisp 55 degrees. 

“It’s really fucking annoying and frustrating, knowing that a version of yourself, who you once were, could be such an obnoxious shit-spitting bulge licker,” Karkat finally says, a strange tone of confidence in his voice. “But if you’ve become a little more knowledgeable and a little less of a piece of worthless shit, you’re not the same person as that awful past-version of yourself. You’ve grown. You’re better and different. Even if it isn’t by much, it still fucking counts.” He glances up at Dave, and their eyes meet briefly before the human looks away again. 

Another bout of silence, although this one only lasts for eighteen seconds. 

“What if I haven’t learned anything and I’m still a significant piece of shit?” Dave asks. 

“Well,” Karkat sighs heavily, his expression thoughtful. “Then you know where you have to go from there to improve. …For the record though, I _do_ think you’re significantly less of a piece of shit than you were half a sweep ago.” 

“Right,” Dave snorts. “You mean before you met me in person?” 

“Speaking through a trolling-chat app doesn’t do many favors for your personality,” he teases. “At least in person I can see the micro-expressions you try to hide under that shitty excuse for a poker face.” 

“Aw shit, there goes my mask of douchiness,” Dave laughs. Karkat laughs too. 

“So, are you gonna try to pull me into your game of romantic foursquare now that I shared my deep, personal thoughts?” Dave smirks and wiggles his eyebrows. “Or can I at least get a sensual face pap?” 

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Maybe a platonic pap after you scrub your filthy fucking face, because who knows what kind of disgusting germs you’re infested with. I don’t want to be infected with any human horrifying diseases.”

“You already caught the worst human disease of all though, dude,” Dave grins. 

“Which is?” 

“ _Friendship._ ” 

Karkat socks his fist in Dave’s shoulder, but then they’re both smiling and leaning back against the couch to finish watching the movie. Dave feels himself relax for the first time in a long time, letting his anxious thoughts float away. He could get used to this, to hanging out with Karkat and even dishing out some of his feelings. It was nice, really nice, as long as he could ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest that occurred every time he glanced over at Karkat.

**Author's Note:**

> So far this is basically just a series of drabbles that I'm collecting into one cohesive story. If anyone has suggestions or requests I'm always willing to oblige.


End file.
